


A Call To Nightmare

by LightbringerSunlance



Series: Ashes of Victory [2]
Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Everybody Lives, Implied/Referenced Torture, Slight study on the Dream vs the Nightmare, The Nightmare - Freeform, angst with a semi-happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 22:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22000861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightbringerSunlance/pseuds/LightbringerSunlance
Summary: A rescue mission goes south for Caera and Senan when they end up ambushed and captured by the Nightmare Court. Luckily help is on the way - but will it arrive too late?
Series: Ashes of Victory [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582747
Kudos: 4





	A Call To Nightmare

It’s a spur of the moment thing. Cailean takes it upon himself to carry the young sylvari home. After all, it is Cailean’s fault that the sapling was injured in the first place, and even a former Nightmare Courtier has the right to feel guilty. So he picks the sapling up and hefts them over his shoulder with ease. Cailean can’t help but notice how light the younger sylvari is.

Once Cailean is sure the sapling is secure enough, he unsheathes his axe and takes the shortest route back to his home. It doesn’t take long; five, maybe ten minutes. Cailean is just glad that they didn’t run into any more trouble along the way.

Once they are safely within the shelter of Cailean’s home, he gently lowers the sapling down onto the makeshift bed in the corner. Finally, Cailean can get a better look at the sapling he’s carried home.

At first glance, the sapling doesn’t seem like much - his hair is red and short, leaves spiking outwards at several different angles. In the darkness of Cailean’s home the sapling’s patterns glow a deep and vibrant red, a stark contrast to his byzantium bark colour. Cailean also notices that the sapling is shorter than the average sylvari and is at least a foot shorter than Cailean himself.

Cailean tilts his head, studying the deep gash carved along the sapling’s arm. He watches as golden sap leaks from the wound, slow and thick. Cailean can’t help but feel sorry for the sapling. He has been on the receiving end of a whip wielded by a courtier, so he knows just how deep the lacerations can cut.

Cailean shakes the memory away, angry at himself. He had almost fallen for their lies during those dark days when toture was a guarantee and pain was a constant companion. Just barely, he had managed to withstand their methods, and in turn he had lied to them about his intentions. But Cailean knows, deep down, that there is some truth in the words of the Nightmare Court, even if most of its courtiers have lost sight of that.

He shakes his head once more. He can’t afford to get lost in the past like this. 

Instead, Cailean opts to busy himself in an attempt to fend of the visions of the past. He moves as silently as he can towards his desk. Another makeshift attempt at building some semblance of a home away from the Grove. Cailean sits down, pulling out a small piece of paper.

He needs to inform the wardens of this little mishap - the sapling can’t stay in Cailean’s home for ever - yet he can’t get close enough in order to do so in person. Cailean also knows they would never trust a word coming from him. He’d made sure of that when he cut all ties with the Grove. He has an option in Caithe, but getting a letter to her is more difficult than killing a dragon. Niamh is another option, but as head of the Wardens, getting a letter to her will likely be more difficult than it would be to send a letter to Caithe.

Cailean lets out a sigh, weighing his options, playing idly with a pen in his left hand. Eventually, he makes a decision and starts writing.

It takes a while. Cailean tries his best to write in half truths and avoid revealing too much. He doesn’t want any of the Wardens to show up on his doorstep since they wouldn’t take too kindly to his past ties with the Nightmare Court, but he still needs to be able to get his point across. If he can get his letter to Niamh, he has no doubt that she will send someone she trusts, rather than her usual wardens.

Once the letter is finished, Cailean glances over his shoulder at the sapling. The sapling shifts, rolling to lie on his left side, but doesn’t stir anymore than that. Cailean sighs in relief. He has a letter that needs delivering and a confused and injured sapling would likely be very counterproductive.

Cailean stands, rolling up the parchment as he goes. He walks over to his raven, scratching under her chin briefly before tying the parchment around her ankle.

“Now girl, it’s important that you deliver this letter  _ straight _ to Niamh. No detours,” he says. The raven chirps in response, nipping playfully at Cailean’s finger. “I shall take that as a gesture of your understanding.”

Once that is taken care of, Cailean turns back to the sapling. He runs a pale green hand through the thick bush of dark red leaves he has for hair. He can feel a wave of sleep wash over him, eyelids drooping closed. 

As much as Cailean would love to stay awake, he can’t deny just how tired he is. It had been a long day, dealing with courtiers and helping out the sapling. So he doesn’t try to resist sleep for too much longer. Cailean settles in at his desk - his only bed taken by the injured sapling - and before long he slumps against the desk, softly snoring.

* * *

Caera lounges idly in one of Senan’s chairs, skimming through a handful of paper. Her lieutenant promised to keep her updated on their squad’s movements during her leave from the Vigil and Caera has done her best to remain in touch. This is one of those times where Caera has found herself with a moment of spare time, so she’s catching up on everything he lieutenant is claiming Caera has missed.

Senan - bless the younger sylvari - had fallen asleep long ago. Not that Caera minds, it means she has more time to herself and more time to go over the slowly growing pile of letters that she still has to respond to.

“Caera,” someone calls from the doorway.

Caera stands quickly, startled, her letters floating haphazardly to the ground. She knows that it is safe in the Grove, but years of training still screams at her to remain alert.

She eyes the person in the doorway - two people, she realises, now that she’s actually paying attention. Two very familiar people.

“Caithe? Niamh? What’s wrong?”

Niamh strides into the room almost like she owns the place, nodding at Caera in acknowledgement. Caithe lingers in the doorway, looking in the direction of Senan’s room.

“Is Senan here to?” Niamh asks.

“He’s sleeping, why?”

Niamh doesn’t waste another second. She marches into Senan’s room in spite of Caera’s protests and returns a moment later with a very groggy, slightly swaying Senan behind her.

“Sorry to bother you both so late. You know we wouldn’t do so unless it was important,” Caithe says, looking somewhat sheepish.

“Of course,” Senan replies with a yawn. “But what is so important?”

Caithe glances at Niamh with a wary look. Niamh bites her lip, taking a moment to think about what needs to be said before actually saying it.

That worries Caera and Senan both.

“We received a letter,” Niamh starts, watching Senan with an unusual intensity in her eyes. “No doubt you will remember the name, Senan.”

She passes the letter over to Senan, and Caera struggles to read the words from looking over his shoulder.

_ ‘Niamh, _

_ I can only hope that this letter finds you at all. _

_ I have a young sylvari under my protection. His name is not known to me, but his attire suggests that he is one of your wardens. _

_ He was being tortured by a couple of courtiers and I could not stand by idly, nor could I leave him to a fate worse than death. _

_ Since I have been exiled from the Grove, I have bought him to my home in the Caledon Forest instead. It was the only option that felt right. _

_ As I have no way of knowing whether or not you will receive this message, I have taken the liberty to contact the Lionguard at the Bay Haven outpost. They will be able to give you directions to my homestead. _

_ Surely you can understand the need for secrecy - though I must apologies for not being more forthcoming.  _

_ Please, do not opt to send your wardens. I would not wish to bring them any harm, and neither of us will be able to guarantee that they will not come to my homestead looking for a fight. _

_ Regards, _

_ Cailean.’ _

“You can’t trust him,” Senan says upon finishing the letter, yellow eyes narrowed.

Caera looks at him sympathetically. She’s never met Cailean in person, but Senan has bought him up before in the past, so she can guess at how he must be feeling right now.

“Perhaps not,” Caithe says. Caera catches something in her tone, something that tells Caera that Caithe is holding back a vital piece of information. She wonders if Niamh is doing the same. “But if Cailean is telling the truth, then there is a young warden in his care that requires our help.”

Senan’s hand tightens around the letter, scrunching it up. Caithe watches with a hint of sympathy.

“You must calm yourself, Valiant. Revenge and anger only fill the heart with more pain,” Niamh says.

“I do not seek revenge, Niamh. I seek answers,” Senan replies.

Both firstborns watch him silently. How many sylvari -  _ how many friends _ \- have both of them lost over the years, either to death or to the Nightmare?

“Why can’t you send wardens?” Caera says, breaking the silence.

“Cailean is right in that it may cause more harm than good. We cannot afford to risk wardens, whose judgement will be clouded by a need to rid the world of one more courtier. That is why we came to you,” Niamh answers.

“But Cailean and Senan have history - what makes you think that won’t cause trouble?”

“It is a risk we must take.”

“And if it’s a trap?”

“It won’t be.”

_ Ah _ , Caera thinks, lips pursed and Niamh gives her a look that leaves no room for argument.  _ They are definitely hiding something _ .

“When should we leave? And how long do we have to talk to him before you send wardens?” Senan asks.

Caithe smiles, small and almost imperceptible. “As soon as possible.”

“I will give you a few hours head start,” Niamh says immediately afterwards. She didn’t believe that it was a trap, but was still willing to send wardens out after them?

“Thank you,” Senan says quietly. Caera can’t really gauge his reaction at the moment, he looks far too stoic for her liking, but she trusts that he will be able to hold it together when they reach Cailean. That doesn’t stop her from being concerned about her friend though.

With that, the firstborn leave, and Caera and Senan are left to prepare for the journey ahead.

* * *

The sound of a loud crash and a scream forces him from slumber. He jolts upright in the chair, grasping at the knife he usually leaves on the desk. His hand finds the leather bound hilt and tightens around it. Within seconds he is out of the chair and crouching, scanning the room with narrowed eyes. 

His eyes land on the empty bed and panic seeps into his core. Where is the sapling? He searches desperately and it doesn’t take him too long to locate the injured boy. 

The younger sylvari lies on the ground, clutching the laceration on his right arm. Icy blue eyes widen in surprise.

“Allow me to help you,” Cailean insists, lowering himself to the other sylvari’s level. 

“No!” he cries in response through gritted teeth. “You’re one of them! You’re a Courtier!”

“I used to be,” he explains softly. In order to further demonstrate his change of heart, he lets go of the knife and places it on the floor, careful to keep it out of the other sylvari’s reach. The young sylvari watches him wearily. “Trust me,” he whispers. Cailean extends his hand, offering the sapling help. After a moment, the sapling takes his hand and Cailean pulls him back onto the bed in a sitting position.

“Let me see your arm.”

The young sylvari extends his arm, twisting it slowly so that Cailean can fully see the wound. The blood around it has dried, but Cailean curses himself for having fallen asleep before he could bandage or partially heal it.

He places a hand above the sapling’s wound, careful not to press to hard on the tender and inflamed bark. The sapling winces, but nods for Cailean to continue. His hand glows with magic, a faint and light blue that lights up the dark and dreary room.

“What’s your name, Sapling?” he asks. The sapling looks at him, probably contemplating whether or not to trust the former Courtier. Cailean tries to reassure him that he means the boy no harm.

“It’s Adeon. My friends, they nicknamed me Fireheart.”

Cailean is intrigued by the unusual nickname. Fire is not usually a word associated with the sylvari. Unless of course you’re an elementalist that has an affinity for fire, but those are far and few between. Not to mention that Adeon looks nothing like and elementalist.

“How were you awarded such a title?” He questions. The magic around his hand is beginning to fade, but he can tell by the small glimpse he gets that the wound is healing.

“They said I was passionate from the moment I stepped out of my pod. Niamh, my cycle’s luminary, thought the title was fitting.”

“If Niamh approved, you must’ve been honoured.”

“I was. She told me ‘You will be a warrior, a light in the darkness. The flame within your heart burns brightly, my dear sapling. Follow it wisely.’ ”

Cailean chuckles as he moves his hand, observing his handiwork. “Niamh must be glad to have you as a Warden.”

Adeon looks down at the wound on his arm. It’s not as deep as it was the day before and sap is no longer secreted from the cut. Green eyes meet blue as Adeon lifts his head. They freeze, eyes locked. Cailean swears he’s seen those sea green eyes before. He blinks rapidly, confused and denying the similarities between Adeon’s eyes and Linet’s.

“I-- thank you,” Adeon stutters, breaking eye contact by glancing back down at his wound. Cailean stands abruptly, choking on his words. 

“You’re welcome...” The older sylvari makes his way towards the door, taking his longbow with him. “I’ll be outside hunting. You should rest.”

With that, he races into the wilderness surrounding his home. His heart hammers in his chest, beating against his wooden rib cage. Cailean tries to calm his mind, but all he can think about are those captivating sea green eyes and a long lost love. 

* * *

Most of their journey is filled with a tense silence. Caera can’t help but watch her friend cautiously. Still, his face betrays no trace of emotion, even after hours of walking and stewing over Cailean’s letter.

“Do you think Cailean is telling the truth?” Caera asks eventually. She can’t stand the silence - normally Senan is so bright and lively, so talkative.

“No.”

“Not even about the warden he’s taking care of?”

Senan rolls his eyes. Caera barely catches the motion from her place beside Senan. 

“Why should I believe a liar?” Senan says and immediately picks up the pace. Caera has tried to talk to him about this before and he’s always been cagey about it. But she hopes that, being forced to face this whole thing head on, means that he might be more open. Clearly she is mistaken.

Thankfully for Senan, he is spared any more talk on the matter.

Before the two of them stands a small structure, not unlike the ones found dotted around the Grove. It’s a house, and Caera has no doubt that it belongs to Cailean.

Senan takes the lead, Caera more than willing to let him scout out the area ahead. She stays focused on their surroundings instead.

When Senan is sure that no one else is present, he enters the seemingly abandoned home. Caera follows a few feet behind, hand lingering over the hilt of the Greatsword on her back. She spots a figure on the bed, eyes wide and cowering at the sight of newcomers. 

The first feature she notices is the distinct pattern under his eyes, glowing red and bringing light to the room. She recognises the pattern from her days as a Warden and sighs in relief.

“Adeon!” she says and rushes to the young sylvari’s side. Senan watches as the two embrace, Adeon recognising one of his saviours.

“Caera!”

The hug is short; merely a gesture between two friends, but Caera catches the hint of jealousy on Senan’s face. She feels like laughing, but a cough from the doorway has both her and Senan unsheathing their weapons.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” The figure asks, calm and confident despite being outnumbered. Senan lowers his blade a fraction, but the tip doesn’t stop being pointed at the newcomer.

“This is how I greet courtiers, Cailean.”

Caera studies Cailean, taking in his pale green bark and the white glowing patterns on his bark that illuminates the darkened doorway. His icy eyes are narrowed as he watches Caera’s grip tighten around the hilt of her greatsword.

“If I’d have known you were going to bring a friend from the Vigil, I would’ve tidied up a little.” He smiles, but Caera knows it isn’t full of arrogance. She’s seen that in plenty of unsuspecting Vigil recruits who think the world of themselves. No, that smile is genuine.

It should send a shiver down her spine, but everything about Cailean suggests he isn’t about to attack them. She doesn’t think he ever had any intention of doing so.

“Caera, take Adeon and wait outside. Make sure we weren’t followed,” Senan asks. Caera swears she can almost hear the growl low in his throat.

She would also rather stay for the conversation, but she knows that Senan will refuse to open up if she stays.

So she nods and guides Adeon out of the house, hoping that her instincts are right and that Cailean isn’t looking to fight them.

* * *

“Why?” Senan asks once Caera and Adeon are completely out of earshot. 

He fully lowers the sword in his right hand, clenching his empty left hand into a fist. The muscles in his arms tense. Cailean, now casually leaning against the wall for support, meets his gaze with sorrowful eyes.

“You left us. She died because of it. I thought the Nightmare could bring her back, but I was wrong.”

“I know why you left Cailean! But why didn’t you take me with you?”

“Because the Nightmare would have torn you to pieces, brother! One of us had to stay true. For her.”

Senan lets his frustration out in a roar, slamming his fist onto the desk again and again. By the time he’s finished, his chest is heaving up and down and a dull ache throbs against his temple.

“I may have blamed you for her death, Senan, but I would never have allowed the Nightmare Court to take away your ideals as they did mine.” Cailean moves his perch near the doorway, slowly and cautiously, until he is stood beside his old friend. Senan doesn’t move; can’t even bring himself to look the traitor in the eye.

Cailean places his hand gently of Senan’s shoulder, only for Senan to shrug it off forcefully.

“Revenge would’ve been better than watching you fall.”

“If I’d have taken my revenge and killed you, I would’ve fallen anyway.”

Senan lifts his head, looking his friend -  _ his brother - _ in the eyes. There are so many more questions, so many things left unsaid. He wants to apologise and scream at the same time, but the words don’t form. 

Instead, a frightened shout from outside diverts their attention. Senan lifts his sword and reaches for the shield on his back, watching as Cailean instinctively readies his bow.

“I’ve got your back,” Cailean says. 

Senan pauses for a moment, temporarily caught off guard, before answering Cailean. “And I’ve got yours.”

The two of them rush outside, scanning the clearing. They stop beside Caera and Adeon, the former of whom has her sword protectively in front of her.

“How many?” Senan asks.

“At least 10.” 

_ We’re outnumbered _ , Senan thinks dryly, assessing the situation with a calm and calculating mind.

All previous anger has been forgotten, replaced with survival. 

Cailean, Caera and Senan all glance at each other, all thinking the same thing: Adeon is wounded and can’t fight, which decreases their chances of winning this fight, especially if they are forced to protect him.

“Adeon, wait in the house,” Cailean calls. After some hesitation, the sapling does not protest and rushes into the safety of Cailean’s home. The remaining three of them stay alert and ready, waiting for the first strike.

It never comes. Instead, a figure walks out from the trees, stepping in front of the other courtiers, who all seem to bow with respect. This woman is clearly the leader of the group, Senan can decide that much.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my old friend Cailean. And look, he’s brought along some new recruits. The Duchess will be pleased.”

“Sariel, I can’t say I’m pleased to meet you again,” Cailean spits.

Senan curses under his breath. He’s met Sariel before when the Nightmare Court tried to kidnap the White Stag. She’s ruthless and without mercy, which only makes their situation worse. Especially since neither he nor Cailean could defeat her the first time. He glances over at Caera with a tinge of worry. He knows how well she can fight, but he’s also very aware that Caera and Sariel have a messy history which could impair her judgement.

_ After all, every sylvari has lost a friend to the Nightmare _ .

The air is thick with tension. Sariel glances between the three of them, eyes lingering on Caera, a wicked grin on her face.

“And what a catch this will be,” Sariel drawls.

“That’s assuming your courtiers are strong enough to beat us,” Caera growls. 

Whatever anger Senan thought he held against Cailean, it must be nothing compared to the extra years these two have. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Caera sound so agitated.

“You could always stand down, come without a fight.”

“And you could always leave.”

“Really, Caera? Is this  _ really _ how you want it to be?”

In response, Caera points her greatsword at Sariel, poised and ready to strike. Sariel laughs, cold and cruel.

“If it’s a fight you want, dreamers, then it’s a fight you’ll get.”

* * *

Sariel leaps for Caera, blade in one hand and shield in the other, eyes blazing with delight. Caera can do nothing but block as the sword comes swinging. She’s amazed by the sheer ferocity and power behind it.

She can’t see Senan and Cailean, can’t even glance in their direction for confirmation that they’re okay. All she can do is pray and hope as Sariel continues their dance.

It’s difficult for her to manoeuvre at such high speeds with her greatsword, earning her a few cuts along her arms. Nothing too deep, but Caera’s stomach drops when she thinks about the possibility of a poisoned blade.

Fortunately, whenever she manages to get a hit in, her swings are stronger than those delivered by Sariel. The few cuts that break Sariel’s bark are far deeper than the many lacerations Caera is being dealt.

“I must admit,” Sariel says when they lock swords. “You’ve always had a great deal of potential for a  _ dreamer _ . Too bad it’s being wasted to protect that false tablet.”

Sariel inputs more force, causing Caera to slide backwards slightly. Even with her feet planted firmly on the ground, trying to find root, Sariel’s power is still too overwhelming. Caera growls, trying desperately to find better footing. 

“The Ventari tablet is not false!” she cries. Caera responds to the power shift, muscles in her arms tensing. It’s not enough to completely overpower Sariel, but the battle is in her favour now. Even so, the sly grin never leaves Sariel’s face.

“Ha, don’t even get me started on the Pale Tree.” 

Caera grits her teeth, anger rising.  _ She’s taunting you. Don’t let her win. Don’t let her get to you. _

“Do you think mother dearest cares whether you live or die here?”

“Mother cares about all her children equally,” she replies. Her limbs are beginning to ache, growing tired far too quickly. She can feel the poison working its way through her system. It might not kill her, but if she succumbs to its effects, then the Nightmare could.

“Do you truly believe that Caera? I can see it in your eyes. You’ve seen this world; you’ve seen the horrors. The teachings of the Ventari tablet are wrong. Our mother is lying to you, hiding the truth.”

“You’re the one who’s wrong!” Caera shouts, though her voice is hoarse. 

Her footing slips again and she finds herself being overpowered. The greatsword in her hand falls to the floor, blade embedding itself in the soil. She’s shoved backwards, into a tree she didn’t even know was there. The poison blazes like a fire in her veins and still she downright refuses to give up.

Caera watches the smirk on Sariel’s face grow; cries out in pain as the sword pierces her right shoulder and pins her to the tree.

“You won’t die here, Caera,” the champion soothes. She places a dark hand gently on Caera’s cheek, forcing her to look Sariel in the eyes. “I’ll make sure of that.”

Caera can hear the distant cries from Senan over the pounding in her head. She wants to answer but as the poison grows stronger she can barely even whisper, let alone shout.

Another cry escapes her lips as the sword is removed from her shoulder. Caera falls to her knees, fighting against the pain. She sees Senan forced to his knees, Cailean surrounded by Courtiers, far too many for him to take out with the little amount of arrows he has left in his quiver. They drag Adeon out of the house and throw him onto the floor carelessly.

Sariel lowers herself to Caera’s level, sword sheathed and shield secured on her back. Through the haze and fog, the only thing Caera can make out before she collapses is the twisted smirk on Sariel’s lips and her final words.

“The fight is over, love. Allow the darkness to consume you.”

* * *

Caera’s eyes open slowly, adjusting to the dimly lit room she finds herself in. She shakes her head gently, wishing for the blur around the edge of her vision to vanish. It doesn’t, and all she has to show for her effort is the beginning of a headache. 

Caera tries to move her arms only to find them chained above her head. She tugs at the restraints, but they don’t give way. A groan escapes her lips and she winces. Caera vaguely remembers the disjointed happenings of a fight with the court, a rotting sword thrust into her shoulder. The pain isn’t too bad, but with her arms holding up the majority of her body weight, her right shoulder is being put under an abnormal amount of stress. As a soldier, she tries to adjust her position, tries to make the wound less problematic, but the sudden movement has her whimpering in agony.

“So the warrior awakens. Tell me, did mother dearest allow you to dream?”

Silver eyes narrow with displeasure, glaring at the nightmare courtier. Sariel wears the same ever-present smirk she wore back in the clearing as she gives Caera a once over. The secondborn coughs once before managing to answer the courtier’s question. “Of course she did. I dreamt of repaying the favour and ending your life with that rotting blade.”

Sariel doesn’t miss a beat before she laughs at Caera’s answer, dark yet so full of life. Sharp yellow eyes glow with excitement. “You will make such a ruthless courtier, my dear.”

“Leave her alone, Sariel,” a deep voice calls out. Caera tries to turn her head and find the source, but her shoulder wound flares up with pain.

“Come now, Cailean. You’ve seen enough recruits over the years to know that what I say is true. Besides, I think I know dear Caera well enough. She’s ambitious, always striving for more power. It’s always the same tale with sylvari like her - no matter how noble they try to act or how desperately they try to resist, they always come willingly in the end.” Sariel barely even glances at Cailean, whom Caera presumes is restrained as well, probably mere feet away by the proximity of his voice.

“Caera’s not weak like the others you’ve corrupted!” another voice cries. This one is slightly higher and a little softer than the last, but the love in his shout tells Caera all she needs to know. Senan is here with her, awake and ready to be tortured. She wants to rush to his aid but the bonds around her wrists prevent her from doing so.

To her credit, the champion actually turns to face poor Senan, though her eyes have lost the spark they had mere moments ago. “And what makes you think that? Love, friendship, honour? These foolish notions are what drive most sylvari to the Nightmare. They are a darkness in our hearts, not a light to be cherished. Love is cruel and bitter, you know. Caithe would agree.”

“How dare you,” Caera seethes. The firstborn has been a mentor to Caera for most of her life and Caera down right refuses to allow some lowly courtier to fling her name around so carelessly. “Caithe may have loved and lost, but she would never call it darkness.”

The champion glares at Caera, yellow eyes wild and dangerous. She lifts a pale hand to Caera’s cheek, stroking down to her jaw line with the backs of her fingers. Caera tries to move back, away from the champion’s callous touch, but the wall prevents such futile efforts. Sariel’s hand continues downward until it reaches the collar bone of the other sylvari. Caera’s heart is hammering in her chest, blood pounding in her ears. The feelings worsen as a hand tightly grips her neck, forcing her head to collide with the wall, mouth wide open and gasping for breath. The courtier slides closer, lips just below Carea’s earlobe, breath hot on the bark at her neck. 

“Then Caithe, much like our mother and naïve siblings, is a fool.”

“No more… a fool… than you,” Caera coughs out.

Caera stares into the eyes of her captor, so wicked and foul and corrupted by nightmare that it sends shivers down her spine. Those same yellow eyes narrow as the pressure around her neck lessens. The courtier steps back abruptly, turning her back on Caera and striding over to a restrained Cailean. 

“It will be so much fun to watch you all fall. The escapee, the new recruits and, let us not forget, the ‘traitor’. Though, I suppose spy is a more reasonable title for you little Cailean.”

A sharp laugh echoes around the room, but Caera is too focused on the previous statement to even care. She twists her head, watching as Cailean grits his teeth. 

“Spy?” Senan mutters, gaining Sariel’s attention.

“Didn’t he tell you? Or better yet, didn’t dearest Caithe? Or even stoic, noble Niamh? He never fell to Nightmare, but his past made him the perfect target for us. And the perfect trap. We welcomed him with open arms, only to find out months later that he’d been sending off information to those annoying firstborn and the Pale Tree. Too bad it didn’t work out for him.”

“You’re lying,” Caera accuses. She’s been debriefed by the Wardens about Cailean. About his crimes against the Pale Tree and the Grove. But there’s a tugging feeling in the pit of her stomach, because she’s been told a thousand times by other sylvari that you can’t come back from Nightmare, yet he’s been begging to. So she thinks over the facts as Sariel laughs in their faces. He’s been at several village fires, all of which were brought under control eventually. No casualties. He’s been sighted at the majority of unsuccessful recruitment attempts. It’s so easy to overlook because who would ever pay attention to a lowly courtier? But as she looks at him now, seeing the conflict in his eyes, she knows.

“It’s true,” he breathes, holding Caera’s for a brief moment before looking away. 

“You lied to me,” Senan whispers. Caera’s breath catches in her throat because he sounds so betrayed, so broken. His friend, his partner, his own brother kept secrets hidden and made everyone think he was lost forever. 

“I had to, Senan. I lied to keep you safe!”

“I don’t need protecting brother! I never did!”

Cailean looks at the floor, face too dark for Caera to make out the expression, but if Senan is anything to go by, then she can only guess that Cailean is just as broken.

Sariel laughs, rough and loud. Cailean glares up at her, and Caera can barely make out the tears glistening in his eyes under the dark lighting. 

“Are you happy now, Sariel? Is this your plan to make us fall? To have us fight against each other. I thought that even  _ you  _ would have more honour than that!” Cailean growls out, straining against the vines binding his wrists, teeth bared and eyes narrowed.

“Honour, Cailean? If you wanted an honourable fall, you should have asked for Gavin. Oh, wait, the foolish man lost his life in a duel with your  _ beloved brother _ .” Sariel responds with disgust. She waves her hand, signalling to the two guards standing to attention behind her. They move almost in sync, one of them walking to Cailean’s side and the other walking to Senan’s. Before any of them can protest, the guards knock out the Cailean and Senan with a couple of well-placed knocks to the head with the butts of their rifles.

They swiftly undo the shackles chaining them to the wall, leaving the wrist bindings in place, and hefting their limp bodies over their shoulders before carrying the two unconscious sylvari out of the room.

“Well,” Sariel starts, turning towards Caera with a wicked grin. “Now that we’re alone, we can start the  _ real _ fun.”

Two strides are all it takes for the champion to reach her. Caera doesn’t wince at the proximity, doesn’t even move when Sariel brings her hand up and strokes her leafy hair. 

“Do you remember, all those years ago when we used to spar together?” Sariel asks, voice uncharacteristically soft. Like an echo from a lifetime ago.

“I remember you cheating your way to a win on more than one occassion.” Caera replies. It earns her a laugh.

“You were more angry back then. At the world,  _ at the firstborn _ . You’re not as angry now, but that lingering irritation is still there. I can see it behind your eyes, in your voice. You think you’ve learnt to hide it after all of your lessons with Caithe and Niamh. But you’re wrong. You’re not hiding anything.”

“So what, I’m just like you?”

“Exactly. If Niamh hadn’t taken you aside that day then you would have left the Grove with me and Caderyn.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

Caera scoffs, glaring at the wall to her left, refusing to look Sariel in the eye.  _ Would I have turned out just like them? No. I don’t believe that... _

It’s then that Sariel reveals the knife in her free hand, blade pulsing with a purple energy.

“Do you always resort to poison, or am I a special case?” Caera says sarcastically, mentally preparing herself for the pain.

“Oh Caera, you’re --” Sariel breathes, cut off by a sharp, commanding voice sounding from the doorway.

“Having fun, my dear?” the voice calls, feminine and husky. The champion turns sharply, knife grazing Caera’s midriff in the process. She goes to gasp, but as soon as she spies the figure in the doorway she freezes, pain forgotten.

Because Faolain is  _ here _ , stood a mere six feet away. She stands tall, scowling – at Caera or Sariel, neither of them really know – with her arms folded and eyes narrowed. Even just stood in the doorway, she looks elegant in her flowery dress and Caera can understand why Caithe would fall for her. 

“I-- Duchess. I didn’t realise you would be here so soon.” Sariel replies hastily, bowing slightly at the appearance of her superior.

“Hmm. Did you manage to apprehend the escapee?” 

“Yes, my lady. We also managed to capture the  _ spy _ and a couple of dreamers.”

Faolain glances at Caera, sending shivers down the secondborn’s spine. She feels the weight of the situation bearing down on her shoulders as the chances of her surviving this ordeal as a dreamer decrease with every passing second.

The firstborn practically glides towards them. She raises a hand to Caera’s cheek, and Sariel steps aside slightly. Both of the courtiers are stood in front of her, but right now Caera is too terrified by the firstborn to pay attention to anyone but her. 

“I do hope Sariel has treated you well, my dear,” she says. Caera doesn’t dare to move or speak. She doesn’t want the pain that will surely follow.

Faolain tilts her head, hand still rested on Caera’s cheeks as she inspects Caera from head to toe. Sariel stands straight backed to Faolain’s side, carefully watching both the Duchess and Caera. She even glares in Caera’s direction when Faolain begins to stroke her thumb along the Caera’s jawline, but she remains silent.

“You have heart,” Faolain says, dragging clawed fingers down Caera’s cheek and neck until the rest against her armoured chest, just above her heart, smirking when she sees the sapling wince. “I can see why Sariel decided to let you live.”

“I would’ve preferred that she left me to die,” Caera replies. Faolain raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“Yes. Of course. I was informed that the wardens were only half a day behind my courtiers. They may have been able to find you before you bled to death, after all, they  _ almost _ found out where my courtiers were taking you.” She glances at Sariel who visibly gulps at the sudden attention. Faolain may be smiling now, but all it does is mask her frustration with the champion.

“I’m sorry, Grand Duchess. Next time, I shall make sure our troops are more cautious.” Sariel says, bowing her head.

“Yes. And next time,  _ Secondborn _ , I hope that the mission report comes directly from  _ you _ instead of one of your troops.”

“Of course, Grand Duchess.”

“Now, leave us.” Sariel glances up at Faolain, ready to protest, and Caera secretly wishes that she would. But Faolain merely shoots her one look, full of irritation, and Sariel nods in defeat. The secondborn leaves the room quickly and quietly, leaving Caera alone with the firstborn courtier. She’s more scared than she’s ever been in her entire life, but she tries to remember everything that Caithe and Niamh taught her over the years. 

Caera looks the firstborn in the eye, forcing her muscles to relax, steadying her breathing. Magic flares to life in Faolain’s hand, but the sapling doesn’t feel any pain.

“How long do you think you can hold out for,  _ Caera _ ?”

The sapling in question narrows her eyes slightly.  _ Analyse the situation. Figure out as much as you can from even the simplest sentence. _

“Long enough. You know my name, but since Sariel hasn’t given you  _ her _ report, I take it either a random courtier informed you, or you’ve been keeping an eye on Caithe.” Caera’s voice is hoarse, but she’s determined to keep the firstborn talking. That way, she’s less likely to be tortured.

Faolain laughs at her, dark and humourless. “My, my, the secondborn has a voice after all. I won’t lie to you, Caera. Of course I’ve been keeping an eye on my Dearheart.”

“And anyone who’s managed to get close to her?”

“Precisely,” Faolain replies with a small smile. The magic in her hand flickers, but there’s still no pain behind the action. 

“So you’ve done your research on me. I’m flattered.”

“Would you like the full report? Or a shorter version?” 

Caera eyes the firstborn cautiously. The hand against her chest feels heavier suddenly. She tries not to think about how Faolain can feel each breath with the rise and fall of her chest, or about their current proximity and how  _ mesmerising _ the firstborn is.

Caithe warned her about Faolain. About her charm and how her voice can sway even the strongest of souls.  _ It’s the magic, stay focused, _ she repeats, mentally trying to convince herself.

“We’ve got plenty of time, right.”  _ Keep her talking. _

Faolain brings her free hand up, placing a crooked finger under the Caera’s chin and forcing her to look Faolain in the eyes.

“Caera, born during the Cycle of Noon. I briefly remember you causing trouble for my courtiers when you were still a Warden. But then Caithe pulled you aside and became a sort of mentor towards you. What I don’t understand is why you left and joined the Vigil; or why you came back.”

“I-- I didn’t feel like I--” Caera barely manages to catch herself before she spills that secret.  _ I didn’t feel like I belonged in the Grove anymore _ . She tries to shake her head and look away, but Faolain holds her still, so she bites down slightly on her lip.

“You can finish your sentence, Caera,” she says soothingly. Caera’s chest begins to rise and fall quicker, and her muscles start to tense up under the strain.  _ Stay focused. Tell her. Stay focused. Don’t tell her. _

“No one will judge you here.”

* * *

Cailean wakes with a start, eyes wide and gasping. He remembers Sariel and Senan and Caera and Adeon. The fighting, the taunting, being shackled to the wall by solid, secure vines.

Except now the shackles are gone. A quick glance to his left tells him that Senan and Adeon are still with him. They’re together in a makeshift vine cell.

And Caera is missing.

“Senan,” he rasps out. 

“Finally awake?” The aforementioned sylvari replies coolly. Cailean looks at him, leaning against the wall of their cell, arms folded, hands clutching his biceps, knuckles growing white from tension. 

“I’m sorry, Senan. I wanted to tell you, truly, I did. But Caithe and Niamh warned me against it. The less people who knew about my affiliations, the better.”

“So you just left? I spent weeks convincing myself that it was all some practical joke! That you’d come back one day and laugh it off! ‘A courtier? Me? Oh, Senan, you sure are a dreamer’!” Senan acts it out mockingly, glaring the entire time. Adeon sits quietly at the opposite end of the cell, knees tucked into his chest and eyes averted.

“I thought I’d lost you, brother…” Senan sighs out. Cailean can’t bear to look at him like this. All those years apart and he thought he’d be happy to see Senan again, but all this reunion has bought is grievance. 

“I know, brother. I know…” Cailean replies softly. 

Silence falls over the three of them like a sudden mist. Senan’s glare softens, but Cailean can still see the hurt in his eyes. Pain that  _ he _ caused.

“We-- we should try and devise a plan,” Senan says after a minute or two. Adeon nods along with him whilst climbing to his feet. He looks unsteady, and Cailean notes that a few of his wounds from his last trip here have reopened. 

“You’re right. We need to get out of here and find Caera as soon as possible. There’s no telling what Sariel will do to her.” Cailean surveys the area, counting five guards in this room alone. He also spots a few more cells, each with two or three sylvari. None of the guards seem to be paying attention, and they are too far away to listen in on their conversation. But Cailean is wary about underestimating any courtiers at the moment, so her lowers his voice to a whisper and relays the plan to his companions. 

“If we can get out of our own cell, we may be able to convince the other confined sylvari. That may help to even our numbers.”

“What will we do about the guards, though? They have weapons and armour, something all of us are lacking,” Senan replies.

“We could make a distraction. At least two of them would come and check out what we were doing. Then all we’d need to do would be overpower them, take their weapons and break out of here.” Adeon supplements. Cailean nods at him approvingly, smile breaking out onto his features.

“And what happens, pray tell, if everything goes horribly wrong?” Senan says.

“Well, if that does happen,” Cailean answers, pausing to look at Senan with twinkling mischief. “We’ll just have to make the rest up.”

* * *

The three of them are well into executing their plan when the sound of fighting begins to echo through the valley. Not the distraction they planned for, but certainly one they can work with.

The guards turn at the sounds just before they reach the cell but still close enough for Senan and Cailean to grab. They force the guards into headlocks, waiting until they pass out to let go and rummage through their garments for the key to the cell. Seconds later, the cell is opened and they are free to find Caera. 

“Quickly, grab the guard’s weapons. We need to find Caera and get out of here before any more courtiers come through” Senan says. 

Cailean nods in response, throwing the longbow to Adeon and taking the great sword for himself. 

“You good to fight?” he asks Adeon. The younger sylvari smiles, turning the bow over in his hand and inspecting it.

“Always,” he replies after a moment.

Senan smiles as well, gesturing for Cailean to lead the way.

* * *

“Caithe and Niamh trained you well, my dear. Any other sylvari would be rambling on about their life story by now, eager to please. But not you.”

“It’s called resolve,” Caera replies, but her voice is strained and barely above a whisper. Her head droops, chin dipping to her chest, and the bark at her forehead is laced with sweat. Every muscle and bone in her body aches. She knows she can’t hold out much longer, and so does Faolain.

Already, there have been too many slip ups.  _ I didn’t belong, the world isn’t as black and white as mother makes it out to be, why should cruelty be allowed to fester and grow? _

She feels Faolain’s magic pressing against her mind pulling and prodding until it finds something useful. A memory, a feeling, or just pure agonising pain. It’s forcing the nightmare deeper, roots spreading - though Caera would be lying if she said the roots weren’t already there. It fills her lungs like thick ink, drowning her in an intoxicating darkness. 

Every breath sends searing pain across her chest as the nightmare crawls deeper, but Faolain uses magic to pull her back, to comfort her.  _ I’m here, _ it whispers louder than the darkness draining her.  _ I can help, I can protect, follow me and I’ll save you _ .

“Resolve is such a fickle thing,” the firstborn says, leaning in and brushing soft lips against Caera’s own. Caera gasps, feels the magic in her touch shoot through every nerve. _Follow me and I’ll save you._ _I’ll give you more than they ever could._

And Caera almost finds herself giving in.

But then she hears the sounds of distant fighting and Faolain draws back ever so slightly. The reprieve of her magical torture leaves her gasping in relief. 

Caera dares to look up in that moment, watching Faolain’s narrowed eyes as they skirt towards the doorway. Faolain’s lips tighten into a thin line. Seconds later and she turns back, a hand clasping around Caera’s neck.

“It appears the time for games is over,  _ pet _ ,” she says. The magic returns, but it’s presence is different from before. 

The first thing Caera notes is the excruciating pain. It rips through every nerve, like thousands upon thousands of thorns tearing into flesh and bone. Every breath burns her throat, every twitch of a muscle sparks another wave of agony. The torrent never ends as the nightmare crashes over her again and again. Even the tears in her eyes sting. 

And then it stops. 

Faolain steps back and Caera’s head lulls forward. Then Caera is shaking in her binds, heart thundering in her chest, tears dripping onto a blood stained floor. 

She wonders why Faolain stopped. The nightmare hasn’t taken her – not yet – so surely the firstborn has ended her torture prematurely. 

And then it clicks. Because Faolain is talking to someone else in the room. Someone with a voice so familiar that Caera almost laughs.

“Let her go, Faolain,” Caithe demands. She stands ready, daggers gripped so tightly that her knuckles pale. 

“And why would I do that, Dearheart?” Faolain gestures over to Caera with the swing of an arm, teeth bared in a cruel grin. “When we can watch your little secondborn fall together?”

“Or maybe I can just leave with her?” Caithe retorts bluntly.

“Implying that she wants to leave, Dearheart. You see, little Caera here is quite bitter. Though you already know that, don’t you?”

Caithe remains silent, and Faolain takes that as confirmation. She swiftly moves to Caera’s side and runs a hand through her hair. The caress is gentle, shockingly so, and Caera has to make an active effort not to lean into the touch.

“Faolain…” Caithe growls in warning, but the other firstborn laughs. 

“All right, my darling. You can take her back to mother dearest. I imagine the fall will be that much sweeter when it happens in the presence of nothing but dreamers,” Faolain says.

“She’s stronger than you think. She won’t let the nightmare take her.”

“Oh Caithe, you’ve been spending far too much time around the dreamers, it’s made you naive.”

“Not naive, just cautiously optimistic.”

Faolain sneers at that.

The vines around Caera’s wrists disappear. Caera drops to the floor with a heavy thud, struggling to use her arms to stop her fall. She ends up on her hands and knees on the ground, coughing violently, her wounds aggravated by the fall.

“Does it concern you, knowing how close to the knife's edge she has come? Or are you more worried about the amount of times she has almost fallen?”

Faolain walks as she talks, moving away from Caera, giving Caithe plenty of space to approach Caera without having to worry too much about Faolain. Still, Caithe keeps a wary eye on the courtier as she approaches.

“None of that matters--”

“Of course not. That’s why the wardens are here rescuing Caera, rather than a firstborn. Oh wait,” Faolain says, lounging in the doorway.

Caithe shoots Faolain a levelled glare before checking up on Caera, assessing every wound. Caera gladly leans into her touch, finding support in the firstborn rather than her aching arms or legs.

“She seems to have a knack for attracting the Nightmare.”

“Enough Faolain!” Caithe snaps. Being so close, the immediate and unexpected raised voice makes Caera flinch. Caithe seems to notice, because the moment Caera flinches Caithe tightens her arm around Caera’s waist, her free hand moving to cup Caera’s cheek.

“You’re not fooling anyone, Caithe. Neither of you are.”

With that, Faolain leaves in a magical flash, purple energy sparking out and across the room. The sheer brightness of the display has Caera blinking away bright spots from her vision, whilst Caithe seems unaffected. Caera almost expects more courtiers to take Faolain’s place - she can hear the pounding of feet in the distances - but to her relief she spots the familiar armour of a warden not a moment later.

And behind those wardens are three very familiar faces.

“Caithe?”

“Caera!”

Senan shouts as Cailean questions the firstborn’s appearance. Adeon is surrounded by his fellow wardens, each of them taking to turns to make sure that he is alright.

Senan rushes forward, goes to cradle Caera in his arms, but Caithe brushes him aside.

“Not now, Senan. She needs rest,” Caithe says. Senan looks to protest, but the firstborn frowns at him, shaking her head. “Trust me.”

Caera isn’t too sure what happens next. It all seems to rush by as more wardens come to their aid. What she can discern from the chaos before unconsciousness claims her is this:

Cailean is arrested by the Wardens.

Both Faolain and Sariel have escaped.

And Caithe is terrified that she may already have been too late to save them all.

* * *

“How are you feeling, Caera?” Caithe asks one evening, leaning against the wall nearest to Caera’s bed. It’s been weeks since Caera’s capture and rescue, but Caera had taken the brunt of the Nightmare Court’s wrath that day, so whilst the others are now up and about and getting on with their lives, Caera is still stuck lying in bed for most of the day.

“Better,” Caera says routinely. Caithe doesn’t look convinced, so Caera swallows her pride, sighs dramatically, and continues. “You of all people probably understand. The physical pain is mostly gone, but… I can feel the Nightmare like a constant thorn in my side.”

“It will get easier.”

“Will it?” Caera scoffs, not looking Caithe in the eye.

Caithe plays with the daggers in her hands absentmindedly. She watches Caera with concern and something else - fear? Resignation? Even if Caera were inspecting Caithe properly, she doesn’t think she’d be able to place the emotion on the firstborn’s face.

“If it doesn’t, you know what we’ll have to do.”

Caera does glance her way then, eyeing the daggers more than anything. Very briefly, her eyes flicker upwards, meeting Caithe’s own.

_ If you don’t recover, you leave me no choice. There is only one way to stop the Nightmare. _

They had discussed it before, in the early days whilst Caera was still in a world of pain. As more and more time passes, Caera feels less conviction in her voice and her answer, but still it never changes. 

“Of course, Caithe. I would expect no less from a firstborn…”

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old work that I started years ago and never really got around to finishing until now. There's always been the perfect opportunity to tell amazing stories about the dream and the nightmare but the game never really gets into it past "nightmare bad, courtiers evil" so I decided to ignore that!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


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